WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES SUGGESTIVE OF SEX AND VIOLENCE

CHAPTER 5

DAMSEL IN DISTRESS I

As Lee Adama made the long walk across the windswept settlement from the makeshift landing field to his apartment overlooking the river, he kept his head down and emitted a steady stream of curses under his breath. Viewed from orbit, the delta region had seemed the obvious place to lay out the colony, but no one had anticipated the biting wind that whipped near constantly across the flatlands, much less the fine particles of sand that got into everything, including a man's eyes and lungs.

This is no place to raise a baby, he thought as he hurried along. Hell, the sunlight's so anemic that we may have to double the area under cultivation just to get the same yield that Aerilon and Tauron were supplying year in and year out.

Lee knew that the President was spending a lot of time out in the newly tilled fields to the east of the settlement. Everyone had been surprised to learn that Gaius Baltar was a farmer by trade, but his willingness to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty had shocked even his firmest supporters. The front page of one of the first issues of the New Caprica Times had featured a photograph of the President standing at the bottom of a muddy ditch, shovel in hand. He was showing some of the young marines in Colonel Phillips' engineering brigade how to prevent the banks from being undercut by the rushing water, which would quickly cause the entire irrigation network to become clogged with silt. Billy Keikeya had captured the moment on film, and the result had been a noticeable uptick in the President's popularity in the most recent polls.

What the people had yet to discover, of course, was that the Leobens and even some of the D'Annas had also taken to the soil—and that they weren't interested in growing wheat and barley. Baltar and his enthusiastic band of cylon followers had set a certain amount of land aside for the cultivation of what was being loosely described to the public as "medicinal herbs." Sooner or later, however, the fact that the President had assigned a full squad of centurions to stand an around the clock watch in one remote corner of the fields was bound to raise awkward questions.

What am I thinking? When people find out that their President is spending most of his time personally overseeing what promises to be a bumper crop of cannabis sativa, he'll probably jump another twenty points in the polls. For sure, Roslin will give him a ringing endorsement.

Although his visits to Colonial One had been infrequent, it had not escaped Apollo's attention that occasionally there had been a pungent and easily recognized odor in the air.

As Lee continued to trudge through the dismal streets of New Caprica City, he offered an imaginary salute to Sharon Baltar. Being the National Security Advisor to the Office of the President was a demanding job, but it was one that he relished. His days were mostly spent up in the air, flying his Viper in systematic, low level passes over the planet's relatively narrow temperate zone. He was scouting out sites where they could hide their military assets, and he had already found four good ones—heavily forested valleys in mountainous terrain pocketed with deep caverns.

I can reposition the Raiders and centurions … even the Cylons … no problem there. But Sharon's right … this has to be a blended operation. Now, how do I remove several hundred mostly single young men and a lot of heavy equipment from the settlement without anyone catching on? Tomorrow, I'd better have a talk with Phillips first thing. Probably my best bet's to have him loan people to the work crews that Laird has crawling all over Cloud Nine and the Zephyr. They go up, but they never come back down …

Deep in thought, Apollo walked steadily through the streets. The sun was going down, and the shadows were lengthening. He was eager to get home, eager to hold his beautiful cylon wife in his arms.

"Lee?"

. . .

"So tell me, sister, what does love feel like? Does it make you feel all warm and tingly … like this?"

The Six twisted the rheostat on the controller, and Mara ground her cheek into the floor, the pain now all consuming. Every nerve in her body was on fire, and she had long since lost control of many of her motor functions. Her eyelids were twitching uncontrollably, and her arms and legs just as violently palpitating. She couldn't see her wrists, not with her arms cuffed behind her back, but she knew that the manacles had bit deep, and that the steel was now slick with her blood.

"What is it you want from me," Mara finally managed to gasp.

"Answers, not questions," the Six snarled. She chose a higher setting, and Mara screamed in agony. She didn't sense the stream of urine that began to puddle on the floor around her, but it brought a triumphant smile to the sadistic Six's lips. She had decided at the outset to introduce the traitorous machine to the rules of this particular game by inflicting the maximum amount of pain in the shortest possible period of time. Mara would die, only to download and start the process anew. Her body would be fresh, but the pain would carry over in her mind. The Six had an almost limitless supply of husks at her disposal, and she wouldn't relent until she had broken the bitch completely.

"Love is a flame," Mara proudly proclaimed, "but it warms without burning. It seals the shattered circle, and makes us whole."

"And I'll bet the sex isn't bad either," her tormentor mocked. "Did you train him well, sister? Is John any good in bed?"

"He was gentle, and caring. You cannot possibly imagine what it feels like to be held in the arms of a man who loves you … to see all of that love every time you look into his eyes …"

"Yes, yes," the Six said impatiently, "but was he any good in bed?"

"There's a difference between having sex and making love, sister. I pray that one day you will discover this for yourself."

The Six reached out and grabbed Mara by the hair. She violently twisted her head up, and held a glass filled with a greenish liquid to her lips.

"Drink this," she ordered. "You need the electrolytes."

Mara complied, but fully half the bitter tasting fluid dribbled down her chin, spilling onto the floor beneath her legs.

The Six savagely kissed her, forcing her mouth open and driving her tongue deep into Mara's mouth. She was on fire, and she wanted her slave to douse the flame.

"Did he kiss you like this," she demanded. "Does he know how to use his fingers?"

The Six brutally drove two of her own fingers deep inside her helpless captive, reveling in the act of rape. She owned Mara Andreotis' body, but what she really wanted was to take possession of her soul.

Without warning, she changed her pace, and her target. She began to massage Mara's nub, which was swollen with need.

"Did he enjoy going down on you," she murmured. "Did you enjoy taking him in your mouth?"

"Frak you," Mara said through clenched teeth. With her hands chained beneath her, the pain in her shoulders was excruciating.

"Exactly what I have in mind," the Six leered. She mounted her victim and began to ride her, grinding away with the hard edge of her pelvic bone. "I want to find out what you can do, so I'll make you an offer you can't refuse. You crawl between my legs and service me to my satisfaction, and I'll give you a day of rest."

"Go to hell," Mara screamed, but she was praying to God not to allow her body to betray her.

The Six reached out for the controller, set it on the lowest setting, and turned it on. She was searching for the balance point, the place in the mind where pain and pleasure fused into one all-encompassing whole.

Mara Andreotis shuddered with revulsion. She was a Six, and she had been programmed for seduction. Once her greatest asset, her sexuality had now become her greatest liability. Her body began to shake, but this time she could not tell whether it was responding to the renewed pain or to the first stirrings of pleasure that threatened to undermine all of her defenses.

. . .

"Shevon! What the … what are you doing here?"

"Lee, I need your help! Please …"

The distraught young blond reached out to grasp him by the arm. "I don't know if they're watching. Please, try and act natural … like you're meeting an old friend whom you haven't seen in a long time."

Even in the fading light, Apollo could see the fear in Shevon's eyes. His military training took over, and he pulled her close—just two old friends sharing a warm embrace.

"What's going on," he whispered into her ear. "Who's watching you?"

"The Sons of Ares."

"What? I thought you worked for Six. Shevon, how in the name of the gods did you get mixed up with those creeps?"

"They're muscling in on Six's operation. Lee, can you come to my tent?"

"Shevon …"

"I know, Lee. I know all about Creusa and the baby. And I'm happy for you … happy that you finally found the person you've been searching for all these years, even if she did turn out to be a Cylon. I need to talk, but it's got to look like business. Please, Lee; I'm desperate, and I don't know who else I can trust."

"Gods, Shevon … if anybody sees me going into your tent, especially a Cylon …"

"I'll take care of it, Lee; I promise you. I'll find some excuse to go talk with your wife … set her straight. I won't allow this mess to threaten your marriage. Please …"

"Okay," he nodded. Shevon had helped him through a rough patch, when nothing in his life had made any sense. He still thought of her as a friend, and Lee Adama was not the kind of man who would turn his back on a friend in need.

"Okay … we'll go back to your tent and sort this out. If anybody's watching, right now I'm just another married man looking for a little action on the side. Lead the way."

Shevon led Apollo away from the river, but they hadn't gone more than thirty meters when a Six crossed their path. Lee caught the flicker of recognition in her eyes, and he felt the full force of her contempt and anger as she stormed away. In that moment, he suddenly and belatedly realized that the Cylons at large must know an awful lot about his personal life, including the details of his former relationship with the prostitute now standing at his side.

. . .

"He seems terribly ill," the Six quietly observed. She was keeping her distance from the young human, whom the nursing staff had just bedded down on the opposite side of the tent. Although the President would dedicate the first wing of their new hospital in the morning, tonight Six was standing on the unsanitary dirt floor of the only functioning medical center in the settlement.

D'Anna studied her patient. He was pale and sweaty, and she knew that the occasional bouts of violent coughing that wracked his wiry frame were alarming her companion.

"Do you know what's wrong with him?"

D'Anna glanced at the chart that she was holding in her hand. "Mr. Lackey is a Sagittaron, so the preliminary diagnosis is Mellorak disease. There's been an outbreak in the Sagittaron community."

"It's contagious, isn't it?"

Since her conviction for crimes against humanity, the Six had spent her days laboring in the fields and her nights in the unheated cell that would be her home for the next two years. The long hours bent over a hoe had filled her head with dreams of stealing a Heavy Raider and jumping away from this hellhole, but the four Colonial marines assigned to her were well disciplined, kept their spacing, and never dropped their guard. Now, she was nearing the end of her first shift in the patient ward, and she just wanted to get back to her cell. The sickly humans were depressing, and the simple, candy-striped dress that she was wearing made her feel utterly ridiculous. Although it stopped several inches above her knees, there was nothing even vaguely suggestive about the cut.

"Yes, and there's no reason to believe that we're immune. But don't worry, Six; the injection you received this morning will keep you from getting sick."

"Three, I don't understand how you can come here day after day. Why are you doing this?"

"My husband and I are both healers. Sherman cares for the body, and I tend to the soul. God has commanded me to spread His word among these people, and I shall do His bidding."

D'Anna looked curiously at her younger sister. She had assumed that everyone in the collective was aware of her mission.

"Now come," she said firmly; "let us go speak with Mr. Lackey; perhaps we can ease his fears as well as relieve his pain."

D'Anna set off across the tent, with the visibly reluctant Six trailing behind her.

"Hello, Mr. Lackey; my name is D'Anna Cottle, and this is Six. She's a nurse's aide, but this is her first day on the job, so I'm counting on you and the other patients to keep an eye on her, and to prevent her from getting into any trouble. Will you do that for me?"

"With pleasure," he laughed; his eyes were glued to the Six's long and very shapely legs. And then another coughing spasm shook his body.

"Six, help him to sit up." D'Anna reached for a glass of water.

"You want me to touch him," the Six asked incredulously.

"He doesn't bite, sister … at least, I don't think he does. So, help him."

The Six leaned over, got a hand beneath the human's back, and awkwardly pushed him into a sitting position. When she looked up, she found his hand extended towards her.

"Thanks, Six; and, by the way, my name's Eric."

Six shook his hand, while her brain began processing long lists of bacteria and even more nasty viruses that she was convinced were now busily burrowing their way into her skin.

He has nice eyes, though, and really nice hair, she mused. Eric Lackey was 28, with thick waves of black hair and mauve colored eyes that nicely complemented his ruggedly chiseled features. His heavily muscled arm was darkly tanned from his own long hours in the fields.

Gods, but she's gorgeous! A blond-haired, blue-eyed angel dispatched from the heights of Olympus just to brighten up my day!

It's too bad that he's a human … and a Sagittaron!

Six had heard about the Sagittarons—they lived in huts, dressed in animal skins, hunted with clubs, and offered up human sacrifices to the vengeful demons who dominated their lives.

D'Anna watched the interplay between Six and the human, and smiled to herself. Eric Lackey was young and healthy, but he had had the good sense to come in for the bittamucin injection as soon as he had begun to show symptoms. They were keeping him overnight purely as a precaution: Sherman had assured her that he would be, as her husband liked to put it, right as rain in the morning.

"Six, please attend to Mr. Lackey's needs while I go visit Mr. Alvaro. He also has Mellorak, but his condition is more advanced." D'Anna deposited a stool next to the bed, and invited the Six to sit.

"I thought that Sagittarons didn't take medicine," she commented as she studied her first patient. "Isn't it an affront to your gods?" God, forgive me, but he's really handsome!

"You're right, Six." Eric Lackey had a huge but sheepish grin on his face. "Your average Sagittaron is paranoid, pigheaded, and argumentative. Medicine's an abomination, and anything more advanced than Burdock root is a sin against the gods. Physicians are spreading disease because they refuse to acknowledge that the body and the mind are myths. The life that we lead on this plane of existence is a mirror within a mirror … the only thing that matters is the purity of our souls on the day when the gods summon us home. Prejudice … bigotry … Sagittarons may not have a monopoly, but they sure as hell hold the patent."

"I take it that you don't subscribe to your people's beliefs?"

"No. I'm a heretic … an abomination … a soul condemned to suffer unto eternity in the fieriest corner of Hades."

"An abomination," Six reflected. "How curious life can be. We have children … hybrid children. Many of my brothers and sisters regard them as angels, sent by God to deliver us from evil. But there are others who dismiss them as abominations, nothing more and nothing less. Is everything that's new and different … everything that challenges our received view of the world around us … to be decried as an abomination?"

"Hey, anytime you swim against the stream, you threaten those who're content to go with the current. There's a price to be paid for being different."

"You sound just like one of my brothers," Six laughed. "Are you sure you're not a Cylon?"

"Pretty sure," Eric chuckled. "Gods, but you're beautiful."

"What?"

"I'm sorry; that just slipped out."

"Don't apologize. I'm as vain as any human woman. Flattery is the key to my heart … but I would prefer it to be sincere."

"When I get out of here, will you give me a chance to prove my sincerity?"

"Yes, but I don't have a lot of free time. When I leave here, it's straight back to my cell."

"What? You're a criminal? What'd you do … rob a bank, or something?"

"Something along those lines," the Six sighed. The human obviously hadn't paid any attention to her trial, and for some reason that pleased her. "Anyway, I have to do fifty hours a week of forced labor, and counseling eats up still more of my time. What's left over … I just sit and stare at the walls."

"You've just described my childhood," Eric countered. "Detention for mouthing off to the teachers … being grounded for challenging all the crap that the priests kept shoveling down our throats … there really is a price to be paid for being different. I've been there. I know what you're going through."

"Did you have four Colonial marines holding your leash?" Six casually nodded her head towards the entrance to the tent. Two of her minders were watching her intently.

"No," the young Sagittaron was quick to concede; "things were never that bad. So, anyway, what are you doing for the rest of my life?"

"Two years of community service, after which I'm supposed to become a productive member of our bold, new world."

"How productive is productive?"

"No one's got around to telling me. But then again, I don't think anyone's really thought that far ahead. I've come to the conclusion that we're all just making it up as we go along."

"Me, too. Sometimes, I feel like we're on a stage, but half the props are missing, someone forgot to turn on the lights, and there's no audience …"

Eric was cut off in mid-thought by another coughing spasm.

"Are you in pain," the Six asked. Not knowing what else to do, she offered her patient another glass of water.

"Thanks, Six," he gratefully replied. "Trust me … it sounds a lot worse than it is. Something tickles my throat; I start coughing, and then I can't stop. It's a bloody nuisance."

"Are you bleeding, too?" Genuinely alarmed, the Six climbed to her feet …

"Hey! Hey! Settle down, Six! It's just an expression … a bit of slang. We humans are a walking, talking collection of clichés and odd sayings. We don't know where ninety percent of them come from, but we all know what they mean. For example, 'putting the pedal to the metal' means that you're supposed to floor it when you're in a car, but everywhere else it means that you're supposed to go all out. You have to be careful not to take us literally."

"You are a very complicated species," Six observed. "Do you ever actually mean what you say … or say what you mean?"

"Well, it's always best to start from the presumption that guys- especially guys my age- have one thing on their mind, and only one thing."

"Sex?"

"We have a winner!"

"Then we have something in common, after all,"

"Meaning?"

"We Sixes like to frak … and we are not shy when it comes to satisfying our needs."

Six felt the first stirrings of desire as various subroutines began to come on line. She leaned in close to the human, and flicked a lock of hair off of his brow. She noted that his eyes had suddenly gone very wide.

"In fact," she went on in a soft, silken voice, "we can be … most insistent."

"Holy Hera!" Eric was sorely tempted to pinch himself, just to make sure that he wasn't dreaming.

Six slowly walked her fingers up the young Sagittaron's chest. "When you are no longer sick, will you come to visit me?"

"Will I? Will I? Six, wild horses couldn't keep me away!"

"What does that mean?"

"It means … it means that I'll run through burning fire, crawl across broken glass, and swim raging rivers to get to you!"

"Wouldn't it be simpler," she smiled, "to meet me here at the end of my shift, and walk me back to my cell?"

"Yeah … sure … I can do that too."

Six kissed him tenderly on the lips, but she allowed the moment to stretch.

"I have to go now," she said as she finally stood up, "but I'll be back in the morning. I'll ask Three to let me look after you. Sleep well."

On the opposite side of the tent, D'Anna had a contented half-smile on her face. The Six clearly didn't realize that her integration into their newly blended society was progressing by leaps and bounds. Ultimately, however, her lack of awareness wouldn't matter.

Sixes are so predictable, she thought; so like the human male. She couldn't help but marvel at how smoothly the whole plan was proceeding.

. . .

The longer they talked, the angrier Lee Adama got. Shevon was an adult—a capable woman fully aware of the risks that came with her profession. Apollo reckoned that she could take care of herself; indeed, he was reasonably sure that she would never have sought him out if the Sons of Ares had targeted her with their threats. But Paya made her vulnerable, and Lee suspected that she wasn't the only prostitute in the settlement being blackmailed in this crude fashion. Most of them had children.

"Shevon, you really need to go to the police. They can protect you … hell, it's their job!"

"Lee, I can't work if I'm in protective custody, and I'm not going to raise my daughter in a jail cell. Leave the police out of this. I'm only asking you to do me one favor, and that's to tell Six what's going on. I'd go myself, but Enzo has people everywhere. If they see me going anywhere near the Prometheus, he'll grab Paya and he'll cut her. He wasn't bluffing, Lee; he'll do it … he'll really do it."

"I know … I know. Gods, it's a nightmare. Shevon, what do you expect Six to do? What do you want her to do?"

"Lee, she needs to hit the Sons of Ares before they hit her—she needs to hit them fast and hard. But right now, what I want is for Dino to come collect Paya and take her back to the Prometheus. It's the only place where she'll be safe."

"Okay … okay … I can see that … but the moment word gets out that Paya's on the freighter, Carlotti will put two and two together, and he'll come for you. You know that, don't you? He'll torture you to death as a warning to everybody else that's thinking of crossing him."

"Lee, let me worry about Enzo. Just help Paya! Please, save my little girl!"

. . .

Sharon was walking the dirt floor, and becoming increasingly desperate. She had offered Hera her breast, hoping that she was simply hungry, but she could tell now when Hera was crying because she was hungry or tired, or simply cranky. This was something else.

"Helo, I'm worried. She won't stop crying, and I have no idea what's wrong. Do you think we should take her to Doc Cottle?"

"Give her to me," Karl said as he held out his arms to receive his daughter. Sharon passed Hera to her husband, and he cradled her in his arms, but it made no difference. Hera simply refused to stop crying.

The tent flap was pushed aside, and two of Sharon's sisters walked in. Many of Hera's aunts lived in the surrounding tents, and they kept a close eye on the tiny miracle in their midst.

"What's wrong with Hera," one of them worriedly asked.

Karl felt his daughter's forehead, and he didn't know whether he should be relieved or alarmed that there was no sign of a fever. He glanced quickly at Sharon, making note of her clothing. Like so many of the Eights, she now wore her hair in a tight bun with a single ponytail. She had shed all of the weight that she had gained during her pregnancy, and it was getting harder and harder for him to distinguish her from her sisters. There were her breasts, of course, but if the tent got crowded he couldn't exactly go around taking measurements. To be sure, Sharon's sisters wouldn't have minded … quite the opposite. Helo had long since come to the conclusion that he could sleep with virtually the whole production line if he so desired, but his ego wasn't that swollen, nor was he that insecure. He loved his Sharon, and he held tight to the memories of all that they had shared on the surface of Caprica. She wasn't just one more of the seemingly endless copies that had rolled off the cylon assembly line, and he was prepared to deck anyone who questioned her individuality.

"We don't know," he said as he gently bounced his daughter in his arms. "She's not sick, she's not hungry, and I don't think she's sleepy. She just seems to be out of sorts."

"Hey, it happens," he added defensively as four more Eights came charging into their tent.

"Don't you people ever knock," he asked. There were no doors on baseships, and the concept of personal privacy had barely gained a foothold among the thousands of Eights now settled on the planet. They came and went as they pleased.

Karl didn't bother to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"What's wrong with Hera," Philista Liu unknowingly repeated as she stormed into the tent with Marc Jacobs and their Sharon in tow.

"She claustrophobic," Sharon snapped. There were times when being the center of attention for her entire model just made her want to scream. This was one of those times. "And you're not helping."

"You should take her to Doc Cottle," Jacobs urged. "Mellorak's popping up all over the place. You don't want to take any chances."

"Has Hera been immunized," Philista pressed.

"Immunized against what," Helo countered. "For God's sake, Hera's blood doesn't have any antigens. She's never had a sick day in her young life. I almost wish that she was down with a fever or something, because then we'd at least know what to do!"

Karl had to speak up to be heard over Hera's screams. His little bundle of joy had her eyes tightly shut, and she was shrieking at the top of her lungs. An air raid siren wouldn't have offered much competition.

"Okay … okay," he said as he surrendered. "We'll take her to Doc Cottle."

Sharon took Hera back, and wrapped her in a blanket to protect her against the chill of the deepening night. The three of them set off across the camp, with a small army of Eights escorting them through the darkness.

. . .

When Lee opened the door to his apartment, he was surprised to find it in total darkness. And then he thought about the Six who had seen him with Shevon, and surprise turned to sadness. He didn't know which hurt the most—the knowledge that his actions had deeply wounded his wife, or the fact that she had condemned him without a hearing.

He paused in the gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The silence was thick and ominous, but it had a funereal flavor, which told him that Creusa was waiting within.

In the living room, he could just make out her silhouette. She was sitting on the couch, facing the window, a motionless and unblinking statue. For the first time in their relationship, Apollo sensed that he was in the presence of something inhuman … something fundamentally alien.

The light from the nebula was so faint that he couldn't make out Creusa's features. What would he find when he knelt before her and clasped her hands? Anger? Disappointment? He knew that he was doing the right thing ... why, then, did it feel like such a betrayal?

"Are you all right," he asked, keeping his voice low.

"No." She spoke only the one word, and her eyes continued to look past him.

"Creusa, it's not what you think. Shevon's a friend, and she needs help. I don't have time to explain, but she's in really bad trouble, and I've got to go."

"You're going back to her … for seconds?"

The anguish in his wife's voice struck Lee Adama like a punch delivered squarely to the jaw. For one long, confused second, he was back on Caprica … Gianne telling him about the baby. Crushing her happiness … watching her recoil … and when she had finally spoken, it was in that same disbelieving tone. Apollo was suddenly very, very thankful that he couldn't read the expression on Creusa's face in the nebula's dusty glow. He was afraid of what awaited him in the shadows.

"I wanted to die. I wanted it so badly that it became a challenge to get out of my rack, put on my clothes … do anything. I was so tired, a bone-numbing fatigue that ate its way into my very soul. Shevon brought me back from the brink … Shevon and Paya. I looked at her, and I kept seeing my little girl … the one I would have had if I had been less selfish … if I could have just stopped feeling sorry for myself in those few, precious seconds when Gianne …"

Lee climbed to his feet, and his voice hardened. No matter what it cost him, he had to do this.

"I'm not going to let them hurt Paya. I'm through running, through leaving people behind. I love you, Creusa, but I've got to go."

Lee hastened into the bedroom, stripped off his flight suit, and let it drop to the floor. He stuck the automatic in the waistband of his trousers, threw on his jacket, and shoved a second gun and several spare clips of ammunition into his pockets. If the Sons of Ares wanted a war, he'd give them one.

The light suddenly came on, and Lee whirled around to see Creusa standing in the doorway. Her hands were caressing their unborn child, he couldn't tell whether consciously or unconsciously … but there was no missing the concern on her face—the concern, or the fear.

"Is she worth it, Lee? Worth running the risk of getting yourself killed? Worth leaving your daughter without a father if this all goes wrong?"

"I can't walk away from this, Creusa. I care about Paya. If I hadn't met you, I might have …"

Apollo simply shook his head. In truth, he had absolutely no idea how things might have worked out with Shevon, but he had entertained fantasies about the three of them becoming a family. He was too honest with himself not to admit that it was all guilt … all a form of self-imposed penance for what he had done to Gianne and the baby. But that hadn't made his feelings for Paya any less real.

"Can you at least try not to be a hero? Take some of my sisters with you. A few of them are spoiling for a fight."

"Is it boredom," he laughed, "or can't they get killing humans out of their system?"

"Perhaps it's a bit of both," Creusa conceded with a perfectly straight face.

"Well, I don't intend to make tonight Lee Adama's last stand. I'm going to sneak out the back way, and head for the Prometheus. All Shevon wants me to do is let Six know what's going on, and get Paya to safety. She'll send Dino Panattes to sort it out, but if he needs backup, he's got it."

"Adamas," she sniffed. "You're all gangsters at heart. You once told me that great uncle Sammy was your childhood hero—and he was a top Ha'la'tha hit man."

Lee kissed her, and he poured every ounce of the love that he felt for his beautiful wife and the daughter that rested beneath his hand into the kiss. And then, without looking back, he brushed past her, and hastened out into the night.

. . .

Hera was still screaming when they reached the oversized tent that doubled as a maternity and pediatric ward. An Eight with nursing experience on one of the resurrection ships was at the admission's desk, and she jumped to her feet in alarm when Sharon carried her daughter across the threshold. The Eight's eyes went wide when a small army of concerned humans and Cylons crowded into the tent behind the mother and child.

"We don't know what's wrong." Helo anticipated the obvious question. "That's why we're here. We want Doc Cottle or Doctor Robert to examine her."

"Wait here," the Eight instructed. "I'll go find Three."

She hurried off, but quickly returned with D'Anna. No one had ever formally designated her for the role, but if the hospital could be said to have an administrator, the deeply pious Three was it.

"What seems to be the problem," she asked as she gauged the size of the crowd that was gathered behind Sharon and Helo.

"Hera … something's the matter with Hera." D'Anna caught the strong undercurrents of fear and uncertainty in her sister's voice.

"May I hold her?"

Sharon passed her child to D'Anna, and as soon as the baby was settled in her arms, she stopped crying.

"Huh?" Karl was stunned. Hera had been screaming non-stop for more than an hour. The silence that now enveloped him was literally deafening.

"What's the matter, Hera?" D'Anna used her finger gently to wipe the tears from Hera's cheeks. "What are you trying to tell us, sweetheart?"

"Doc Cottle …"

"My husband and Doctor Robert are both in surgery," D'Anna interrupted. "Ruth Gabriel and Esther Cohen have both gone into labor, and Ruth is experiencing complications."

"What?" Helo had never been a big believer in coincidence. "They went into labor simultaneously?"

"Simultaneously," D'Anna agreed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll make sure that my husband knows you're here. He will get to you as quickly as possible." She handed Hera to her father, and frowned when the child instantly resumed her crying. . . .

"Ruth, I'm not going to sugar coat this." Sherman Cottle had decided, in his usual gruff way, to give it to her straight. "Your baby's not in the head down position, so right now we're looking at a breech birth. "We've got two options. I can put you out and safely deliver your son surgically, or I can distend your cervix, insert my hand into your uterus, and manually manipulate him into the proper position. Surgery always carries a risk, and it will reduce your chances of carrying any future pregnancy successfully to term. But the internal cephalic procedure will hurt like hell, and if I compress the umbilical cord, it'll cut off the flow of oxygen to his brain. You don't need me to spell out what that would mean for the baby's development. I recommend surgery, but it's your call."

"No," Ruth said without hesitation; "no surgery. I'm not keeping this child. I don't even want to see him after he's born. I won't risk not having children in the future for the sake of this … this abomination."

Another contraction washed over her, and despite the epidural, she moaned in pain.

"Okay," Cottle nodded. He studied the image that Ishay was generating on the fetal monitor, and worked it out in his mind. I can't go counterclockwise, or the kid will get tangled up in the cord. I'll have to work around the umbilical from start to finish, and just hope for the best.

"Here we go," he warned. He dilated the cervix and, his eyes never leaving the scan, forced his way into Ruth Gabriel's womb.

In the waiting room, Philista and Helo both shivered when they heard the high-pitched, terrible scream that emanated from one of the tent's many hidden recesses. Several of the Eights blinked in surprise, but they were all much tougher than they looked, and so they managed to hold their emotions rigidly in check. Another hybrid baby was being born, but its fate was still uncertain.

And little Hera Agathon continued to shriek without cease.

. . .

"Good evening, Captain. It's been a while; do you remember the drill?"

"Yeah," Lee answered. "And it's good to see that the new cylon management is upholding some of our finer and more paranoid traditions."

Apollo voluntarily surrendered his two guns, and waited patiently for KuhnLao to finish patting him down.

The bodyguard raised his eyebrows when his hands brushed up against the spare clips.

"You look like you're expecting all Hell to break loose. Got any grenades?"

"Just the guns," Lee tersely replied. "I need to see the Six. Is she about?"

"She's holding court in the bar. You want me to take you in?"

"No … no … you should stay here, and keep your eyes open. The Sons of Ares …"

Apollo didn't have to finish his thought. KuhnLao tensed, and his eyes began systematically to scan the surrounding terrain. There was only one way to get into the Prometheus, and he was standing squarely in the middle of it.

"Have a good evening, Captain." The gangster's voice was soft and excessively polite. KuhnLao was ruthless, and like all truly dangerous men, never felt the need for bluster.

Lee plunged into the heart of the ship, and as he walked the long central corridor he could not help but remark how much the Prometheus had changed. In space the freighter had been the beating heart of the black market, and it had pulsed with the desperation of the men and women who had come to its decks in search of everything from cigarettes and antibiotics to forbidden pleasures. Now, it was eerily quiet.

But the bar hadn't changed, and the Six was indeed holding court.

"Lee," she exclaimed as she rose smoothly to her feet. "This is an unexpected surprise. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Hiris Six was happily married to Erin Mathias, but that did not stop her from openly appreciating Lee Adama's handsome features and firmly muscled body. The once jaded Cylon prostitute had long considered Apollo to be the one who got away, and the fact that he had ended up marrying another Six amused her no end.

Lee sat down, his expression grim, and the Six's demeanor changed. She knew that this was no casual social call.

"Shevon's in trouble. The Sons of Ares are threatening to go after Paya with a razor if Shevon doesn't start working for them. She's terrified. She's convinced they mean business."

Six cast a sideways glance at Dino Panattes, the unspoken question plainly to be read in her eyes. He softly shook his head. Neither of them had expected Enzo's crew to be this ambitious, or this reckless.

"Shevon wants to get Paya to safety. She asked me to come here, and put you in the loop. She wants Dino to bring Paya back to the Prometheus."

"Where is she now?"

"With Aelia; Rufa … her little girl is Paya's age. Shevon says that they take turns babysitting. Six, what about Rufa … Persephone ... what about all the others? Shevon thinks that the Sons of Ares are trying to take over. If she's right, doesn't it stand to reason that they'd threaten everyone with a child?"

"They're scattered all over the settlement," Dino observed. He could read the Six's thoughts. "It's like a checkerboard—everyone has her own turf, gets an equal shot at the action."

Hiris nodded in understanding. "We don't have enough manpower," she summarized. "We can't spread our people out across the city, and still protect the ship."

"You think they want to take down Prometheus," Lee gasped in surprise.

"It's what I'd do," Dino agreed. He had been tutoring the Six with no name for months, and as her consigliere as well as her top enforcer it pleased him no end to discover that her thinking had become as devious as his own.

"All right, here's the way we're going to play it." Six stood up and began issuing orders. "Dino, I want you to go find Anthia. If Enzo has people watching the ship, they'll follow you. Everyone knows that you've got the hots for my sister, so you won't be setting off any alarms."

The tough little gangster drew in upon himself. The Six with the flaming red-gold hair that hung below her breasts was, in his judgment, the most stunning woman on this or any other planet. He wanted her, but until this moment he hadn't realized that his feelings were so transparent.

"Tell Anthia what's going on, and have her organize enough Sixes to locate the children and get them all to safety. But keep them away from Prometheus—housing the kids in one of their own tents will do the trick."

"Boss, I don't follow you." Dino's first instinct was to withdraw to the ship, which was a heavily armed fortress.

"It'll keep Enzo off balance, and force him to divide his manpower. And we might just get lucky. If those fools pick a fight with one of my sisters, they'll soon find out that they've declared war on all of us."

Dino grinned with understanding, but Lee jumped to his feet.

"Hey, wait a second! Shouldn't we go to the police? Most of them are ex-marines, and every single one of those guys would go to the mat for you and Erin!"

"No," Six said emphatically. "I don't want my wife, or Caprica, to become involved in this."

"It's a gang war," Dino patiently explained. "We have to send a message, and we have to send it our way. We don't want no cops messing around in our business."

"But you can help, Lee." Hiris briefly wondered if everyone could see how badly she had the hots for Lee Adama. She was desperate to bed him, and one of the nicest things about their marriage was how readily Erin tolerated her amorous escapades. Matty had made it clear from the outset that she understood her cylon wife's needs, and as long as Six kept it within well understood boundaries, she was prepared to look the other way.

But Sixes aren't Eights, she sighed inwardly; we don't steal one another's men.

"How?"

"Misdirection. Here, take a hundred cubits." Six blindly held out her hand, and one of her henchmen dropped the money onto her palm. "You collect Shevon, and you take her back to your apartment. It's the last thing on Caprica that anybody would expect. If those frakking sons of bitches stop you, tell them that your kinky wife is up for a threesome, and she wants to do it with the former girlfriend. Offer them their cut right then and there. They'll take it, and probably congratulate you on your good fortune."

"What about Paya and Rufa? The Sons of Ares must have them under a microscope. If Carlotti senses what we're up to, he'll grab them both."

"I'm not going to let that happen." Six shifted her attention to a tall, heavily muscled Tauronese gunman leaning quietly against the wall to her left. "Snake, do you know where Aelia lives?"

"Yes, Guatrau," the heavily tattooed mobster affirmed.

"Good. We'll give Lee a ten minute head start. Dino, you'll go next. Get a couple of Sixes to Aelia's as quickly as you can, and make sure that they're heavily armed. Snake, I want you and the Claw to rendezvous with them. Your job is to get everyone out of there alive, and then you stay with Aelia and the kids. You do not let anyone near them except for our people and my sisters. Am I being clear?"

"Yes, Guatrau," the thug obediently replied.

"And the Sons of Ares," Dino softly prompted.

Six repeatedly shook her head. "I promised Erin that I wouldn't start a war, and I'm going to keep my promise. But if those assholes begin it, we'll finish it."

. . .

D'Anna walked slowly into the admissions area, the radiant expression on her face a mix of awe and unbridled happiness. The newborn hybrid baby was wrapped in a blanket, and she was clutching him tightly to her chest. As soon as she drew near, Hera abruptly stopped screaming.

"Isn't he beautiful," she asked of no one in particular as she turned to show the baby to the waiting Eights. "Truly, my son is a gift from God."

"You're going to adopt him," one of the Sharons suggested, her tone somewhere between a statement and a question.

"Yes. Sherman and I have talked about it at length—and I believe that this is what Hera has been trying to tell us. She has commanded me to raise this child."

Helo's mouth fell open, and he was about to protest that his infant daughter couldn't possibly order anyone to do anything, but Sharon gently squeezed his arm, and he sensibly chose to keep his peace. If the Cylons wanted to believe that his daughter was the Queen of Heaven, who was he to set them straight?

"Samuel Ogden Cottle," D'Anna murmured. "We're naming him for papa, and for Sherman's grandfather."

"And the other newborn," one of the Eights pressed; "what is to become of the other child?" She was desperate to adopt one of the unwanted hybrid babies.

"David," D'Anna answered. "Esther has decided to keep him after all. She has chosen to name him David Balthazar Cohen."

"So, none of us …"

The disheartened Eight couldn't even finish her thought.

D'Anna gazed sympathetically across the gathering of her younger sisters. "Raising a baby is difficult," she said, "and Esther and I would both value your help … if you would care to give it."

Hera gurgled happily. The Queen of Heaven would grow up surrounded by adoring consorts.

. . .

D'Anna collapsed to the floor at the base of the console, her body so ravaged by pain that she could not control her sobbing. The loss of self-control, and the consequent humiliation, only served to compound her suffering.

It had taken three centurions to hold her down. Two had spread her legs wide, while the third had held her shackled wrists tight against the console's unyielding surface. Her face had floated just out of reach of the stream, denying her the momentary respite that suicide would have offered.

They had mounted her from the rear, as they had done thirty-five years before. Some preferred rape and some preferred sodomy, but the routine was unvarying. The Cavils had always derived much of their pleasure not from the sex act itself, but from the torment inflicted upon their chosen victim. Since they despised her above all others, it did not surprise D'Anna that they had reserved her body for their own uniquely perverse attention.

D'Anna struggled to her knees, and despite the agony that came with the movement, willed herself to drag her body away from the console. But she had not gone far when she fell onto her side. She reached between her legs, and touched herself. When she brought her hands back into the light, they were fouled with her blood.

Thoughts of her child flitted through D'Anna's mind, and she reached out and took them firmly in her mental grasp. She projected herself into a nursery of her own invention, and clasped her infant son to her bosom. The pain … yes, there was pain, but Mama Ellen had told her many times that giving birth was at once the most beautiful and the most painful experience that a woman could ever have.

Inside her projection, D'Anna embraced the pain—loved it as she loved the child who had come in its wake. She held her son to her breast, set the nipple in his tiny mouth, and encouraged him to suck. He needed her milk: it was the only thing that would keep him alive.

As she nursed the child who resided deep within her mind, D'Anna Biers, the first of all the cylon daughters, prayed silently to the One True God. The plea was one that she had tendered many times, and so far it had served her well:

Heavenly Father, hear my prayer. Grant me the strength to persevere in the face of darkness, and let my steps never deviate from the anointed path. Protect my child from those who would harm him, and guide his hand in the performance of the tasks your divine wisdom has set before him. We are the instruments of the Lord's will, and gladly will we suffer in His name, secure in the knowledge of our resurrection into the life eternal.

The walls of D'Anna's projection exploded, and suddenly the stars were orbiting around her. No longer distant, they were now so close that she could stretch out her hands to receive them. And somewhere in this fiery cauldron of Creation, her son was waiting.

Child, hear my voice. Know that your mother loves you, and let love and faith sustain you. Deliver the anointed into the light, as you cast the fallen into the darkness.

The first Three poured her thoughts and prayers into the galactic night, secure in the knowledge that she was the chalice and her son the vessel preordained by the prophecies.

. . .

For the second time in as many hours, Lee Adama opened the door to his apartment, but this time he had company. He was reasonably certain that he was about to die, but he still hadn't figured out whether it would be at human or cylon hands … or perhaps it would be both. When he had dutifully returned to Shevon's tent and just as dutifully brought her up to date, the normally unflappable prostitute had flown into a towering rage, slapping him so hard that he had ended up flat on his back in the dirt at her feet. Paya, she had angrily reminded him, was supposed to find refuge on the Prometheus. How, she had demanded to know, could he have been so stupid? Would he complacently hand his daughter over to an anonymous pair of Sixes and a couple of thugs from Tauron with a combined IQ somewhere in the neighborhood of a single cell amoeba? He had to admit that Shevon had a point, but he privately suspected- very privately- that his one-time girlfriend was afraid that the Sixes would refuse to send her daughter home on the grounds that she was an unfit mother.

Well, at least the lights are on. That's gotta be a good sign, right? Few things frightened Lee Adama as much as the prospect of finding his cylon wife sitting in the dark when Shevon stormed into the living room.

Creusa was sitting quietly in an oversized chair in the far corner. Her hands were neatly folded on her swollen belly, and Apollo was immensely relieved to discover that there were no guns in evidence.

"Your husband is a complete idiot," Shevon fumed. When she looked at Lee, there were daggers in her eyes.

"If you want him, you can have him," Creusa tartly replied. She was sharpening her daggers as well, reminding Apollo in the process that pregnant Cylons were not be trifled with.

The two women glanced briefly at each other, came to an unspoken agreement, and resumed staring at Lee with unvarnished hostility. No one seemed to have anything to say, which suited Apollo just fine. He knew that he was drowning, but like every man who had ever been caught up in this particular situation, he wasn't exactly sure why.

. . .

Hundreds of light years away, his Heavy Raider still far beyond the outer layers of the gaseous nebula, John Bierns flinched. His hand drifted up to massage his heart. It was suddenly on fire, as if it had been touched by a brightly burning torch.